For the Love of Crookshanks
by patagonia
Summary: Beneficent Bast considers herself the foremost authority on Kneazles. This opinion is shared by few. A story in six parts about Crookshanks and his sometimes wayward person.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Surprising, isn't it? Many thanks to my beta Meucci Warlock.

**Chapter 1**

_Welcome to a New Feature here at The Daily Prophet, where we post book reviews from both specialists and the general public. Today's book is **For the Love of Kneazles** by Beneficent Bast. We hope you enjoyed it. Next week's book is **Witches are from Avalon, Wizards are from Caledonia **by Gossamer Moonfly. Send your reviews to our main office. Happy Reading!_

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One of these books was left in our shop and I'm very thankful I have it now. I levitated it at a sewer rat that had gotten into the cellar. Knocked the sucker right out. Bam! The thing flew like 20 metres. We started calling our copy of the book, The Destroyer. Highly recommended.

--Fred Weasley, co-owner of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes

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_Common misconceptions abound in the study and care of Kneazles. The uninformed witch or wizard will often treat them as a common house cat. Kneazles require much more specialized care and attention than simple felines. As familiars, Kneazles are far superior to their Muggle counterparts. A Kneazle will be loyal, attentive, affectionate and protective of his favoured witch or wizard. As the unfortunate among us who have dabbled in the world of Siamese, Tabby or indeed any breed of that species will undoubtedly attest, one cannot expect so much from a common house cat. Do not rely on products, food or toys that are made for the common cat. Kneazles will not take kindly to such an insult. _(excerpt from _For the Love of Kneazles_ by Beneficent Bast, pg 12)

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The weight of a beloved animal on a person could slowly crush everything but the appreciation of the moment, making one feel content and strangely complete. Crookshanks was not a delicate creature, meaning that he was what one might call broad, wide, stocky or any other euphemism for "bigger than average," and so it was impossible for Hermione to forget he was there. His rumbling purrs vibrated through her torso and he occasionally felt the need to get up and carefully rearrange himself, quite often stepping on Hermione's more sensitive parts in the process.

It might have been irritating for anyone else, indeed a fat hairy cat on a hot day is generally not a pleasant accessory, but Hermione found his weight and presence to be soothing, calming. Hermione was determined to enjoy these few moments of peace. Tomorrow, she would be leaving for an indeterminate amount of time, and at the present moment, she wanted nothing more than to hold her cat. She ran her hands over and through Crookshanks's frizzy and somewhat tangled fur. Crookshanks leaned into her hand as she scratched him behind his tattered ears and rubbed his round belly. The rhythmic hum of an early summer evening lulled both into drowsy contentment, each slipping in and out of dreams to the sounds of insects droning and birds chirping.

By nature, Hermione was not a relaxed person - she often equated relaxation with laziness and failure, neither of which she could abide, but possessing a vague notion of what she would be facing tomorrow and thereafter, she revelled her in new appreciation of stillness. Hermione hadn't allowed herself such nothingness, such peace in a long time. She was always pushing herself toward something else, something more, but at the moment, this was all she wanted. Nothing could have been more perfect than lying in the overgrown grass, with a massive cat draped across her belly in the fading summer light. There was an innocence and childishness associated with this position that Hermione found she had needed far more often in the last few days than ever before. Her body and mind were sluggish, but it wasn't unpleasant. She felt as though she had sunk into an all-encompassing comforting embrace – the likes of which she had never before experienced.

The fears and anxieties that had been plaguing Hermione for several weeks were still present, but they were less intense and barely defined. Hermione could see her worries and anxieties through a thick fog - she couldn't name them, but she knew they were there and amazingly, for our heroine at least, she didn't care. Shortly after coming outside, Crookshanks had settled himself on her stomach. Both Hermione and Crookshanks had been sleeping on and off for some time now. In such a comfortable situation, Hermione had finally accepted the uncertainty associated with the seemingly insurmountable tasks that awaited her, Ron and Harry. The evening breeze, the croaking of a few frogs and the fading sunset all converged to create a most peaceful environment. Both Hermione and Crookshanks had sunk so far into their relaxation as to feel utterly immobile, boneless and happy.

"Hey."

Hermione's first reaction was to ignore the familiar voice. Opening her eyes at the moment seemed almost impossible. She could no more have shrugged herself out of this barely-conscious dreaminess than best her eternal nemesis: the flying broomstick.

The voice however, was not to be deterred. It cleared its throat and said rather more loudly, "Hey."

The greeting did not shake her into awareness, but it did make her realise that she would have to face reality and relinquish her drowsy serenity - for the time being at the very least. Hermione lazily opened her eyes to see Ron standing above her. From her angle, he looked like an absolute giant. She could even see up his nose from here, which rather lessened her attraction to him for the moment.

"Oh, hi Ron," Hermione said, slowly blinking away her bliss.

"D'you mind if I sit?" he asked, motioning to the ground next to her. Hermione looked up at him, smiled and lazily shook her head. She sat up and shifted her drowsily purring cat to her lap. After swaying from slight dizziness for just a moment, Hermione leaned against the lanky, awkward boy sitting next to her, and let her head flop down on his shoulder, as it supremely silly to expend her precious energy on something so trivial as holding her own head up. Ron stiffened, but Hermione was far too relaxed to sit up on her own and far too comfortable at the moment to care. Ron awkwardly shifted next to her and reached out to pat Crookshanks on the head. Crookshanks's purrs were the only thing that interrupted the pregnant silence between the two. On any other day, Hermione's sense of peace and contentment would have quickly evaporated to be replaced with the awkwardness associated with nearly every teenage relationship. But not today. The tension she felt in Ron's body, his unique scent and the knowledge that he was so close couldn't even sharpen her senses. Hermione simply continued to stroke her nearly comatose cat while Ron picked at a few blades of grass.

Ron cleared his throat. "Um," he coughed, "I got Crookshanks a present." With a nervous smile, Ron handed Hermione a badly wrapped package, barely held together with a single string. Feeling a bit more energy at this surprising turn, Hermione summoned her will, lifted her head and took the gift.

"Oh thanks," Hermione said, surprised that Ron would buy Crookshanks a gift. Ron and Crookshanks weren't mortal enemies, but neither were they the best of friends. Ron thought Crookshanks to be altogether bad-tempered and Crookshanks thought Ron to be altogether clueless. Hermione turned the package around in her hands, wondering what Ron meant by it.

"Go ahead, open it." As he spoke, Crookshanks had shaken himself awake and had started to paw at the package. Hermione reached around Crookshanks's body and opened his present for him. Before she had even peeled away all the paper, Crookshanks snatched a little brown sack from her hand and leapt off Hermione's lap to gnaw at the little brown burlap sack.

"It's cat grass," Ron explained. "Or something like that. The lady at the shop in Ottery said that cats love the stuff." Crookshanks was gnawing and scratching at the "cat grass" and made little squeaking noises, apparently in enjoyment.

"In Ottery . . . Saint Catchpole?" Hermione questioned, turning to look at him. As far as she was aware, the Weasley's rarely, if ever, went into the little Muggle village by their home.

"Bill had some Muggle money and traded me for it," Ron said, by way of explanation, his gaze firmly on the ground in front of him.

"That was nice of him," Hermione answered, calmly intrigued by this turn of events.

"Yeah," Ron said, digging one of his heels into the ground.

The two friends gently descended into silence. Although embarrassment and awkwardness generally defined their relationship these days, Hermione was far too unconcerned with such trivialities this evening.

Hermione thought she sometimes sensed Ron looking at her as though he had something he wanted to say – something very important and meaningful, but that may have just been the guilty little fanciful corner of Hermione's consciousness. She had tried to encourage him, but he just mumbled and made excuses to leave her presence. Ginny had suggested that Hermione pounce on him, but the very idea of pouncing on a reluctant Ron Weasley horrified her. To comfort herself, Hermione often thought of the slobbery kisses Ron had shared with Lavender, with the idea being that it really was one of the most repulsive things she had ever seen in her life. Unfortunately, Hermione found herself longing for those slobbery, unerotic kisses and then berating herself, because no self-respecting young woman would actually wish for such kisses.

While Hermione and Ron sat in silence, Crookshanks gladly filled the silence with his clawing, meowing and pawing. Occasionally, he would jump into the air as though surprised and attack the small package with a vengeance he had not displayed since those initial encounters with Scabbers. Hermione had never seen him as a kitten, but she imagined that this was how he had behaved. The thought made her smile.

Hermione amused herself by imagining Crookshanks's excited, frantic inner dialogue. "I just, I just have to run over here right now, and now I have to pounce and now I have to pounce again! And again! And now I just have to go over here! And now over here! And what's that over there! And now I just have to run in a circle! And now I have to jump on this thing! And now on this thing! And now I have to attack that orange fuzzy thing that keeps following me!"

Hermione's smile widened.

Ron sighed and leaned back. "Look, I'm sorry that I said nobody would miss Crookshanks."

A bit of Hermione's serenity quietly evaporated. "It's alright Ron," Hermione said, trying to quell her feelings of embarrassment.

"No really," Ron said earnestly. "I-I didn't mean it." He fidgeted and scratched his head. "I meant it as a joke."

"I know that Ron," Hermione said, her brow furrowing.

"Well," Ron started, and stupidly scratched his head again. Hermione looked over at him. He looked like a little boy with his face all twisted up in confusion. "Well, why did you start crying then?"

Hermione shrugged and pulled at the hem on her trousers. "I don't know. I'm going to miss him." Since Harry had made the decision to search out the horcruxes and eventually face Voldemort, Hermione had approached it all very rationally, as she generally approached everything. But when Ron had mentioned that they wouldn't see Crookshanks for months at a time and he for one wouldn't miss him or hearing him cough up hairballs, Hermione had burst into tears.

"Oh," Ron said and furrowed his brow in thought. After several moments of thought, Ron started cautiously, "Well you know, Mum and Dad will take good care of him while we're gone."

"I know." Hermione looked out into the sky and watched the sun set. Looking across the sky streaked and swirled with the vividest colours, Hermione could not deny the beauty of it, the sense of peace it bestowed upon the landscape, the almost ethereal nature of it, the way it demanded meditative contemplation. And the way it made her feel small and empty and long to hold Crookshanks tightly against her again.

"Mum will probably even spoil him too much. She'll probably feed him better'n she feeds us. Plus, he's got the gnomes to chase and Ginny might even be around and she'll play with him a lot and stuff. And he's got all this land to run around on."

"Ginny'll be around?" Hermione asked in surprise. From what she and Ginny had discussed late at night, Ginny had no plans to stay at the Burrow while there was a veritable war going on. This plan was not something the youngest Weasley had intended to share with her family and almost-boyfriend. Hermione was worried for her friend, honoured that Ginny chose to tell her and no one else, but uneasy about keeping it from everyone else.

"Well, I don't really know. She hasn't decided if she's going back to Hogwarts or not."

"Oh."

"You notice the way she and Harry are always arguing, real quiet like?" Ron asked, fishing for information.

"Yeah," Hermione said quietly, hoping Ron would abandon this line of thought. She had sworn to keep Ginny's secrets and she would. Familiar tension slowly started to retake its hold on her.

"I don't know what's up with them, but I wish they would knock it off."

Hermione murmured noncommittally.

Crookshanks ran around the edges of the garden, in search of some adventure or other. Upon finding a gnome, he pounced on it with the fury of a banshee, bowling them both over. Gnome and Kneazle rolled and yowled against each other in the funniest fight Hermione had ever seen. Hermione grinned and Ron openly laughed. It was quite apparent that Crookshanks had no intention of actually harming the gnome, and the gnome was incapable of harming Crookshanks, but in it, Crookshanks had found the second-best amusement known to Kneazle-kind. The first-best amusement known to Kneazle-kind most definitely required the presence of another Kneazle, preferably of the opposite sex.

"He'll be fine Hermione. Yeah. Just fine," Ron said with confidence, and it felt as though he were talking about the fate of the Wizarding World itself and not Crookshanks's comfort at the Weasley home.

Hermione paused before answering. "I know."

Abandoning the gnome, Crookshanks raced around Ron and Hermione three or four times and then took off around the edge of the house. Ron laughed openly and freely.

"I think he likes your gift Ron," Hermione said.

"Yeah. This is hilarious. It's almost better than Quidditch." Ron laughed again as Crookshanks ran from the other side of the house and with all the fury he could muster from within, pounced on a leaf.

"Better than Quidditch?" Hermione asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Almost," Ron clarified, in such a tone suggesting it was a very serious business to imply that anything was better than Quidditch.

Abandoning the leaf, Crookshanks returned to Ron and Hermione and again raced around them several times. Crookshanks was not an animal to expend surpluses of energy. Had she not witnessed it, Hermione would have doubted that Crookshanks could actually move so quickly.

"Umph." Crookshanks leapt into Hermione's lap at top speed. It had been rather like having a bludger leap into one's lap.

Ron laughed and Crookshanks panted from all the exertion of the last few minutes.

"I've never seen him like this before," Hermione said laughing. She affectionately rubbed his head.

"How old is Crookshanks anyway?" Ron asked. He joined Hermione in lavishing attention on Crookshanks and patted him on the back.

"I don't know actually. They lady at the Magical Menagerie just said he'd been there forever." Crookshanks again hopped out of Hermione's lap, intent on his gift. He grabbed it, settled in on Hermione's lap and happily gnawed at his little sack.

"Oh Crookshanks, that's gross," Hermione said, laughing in spite of herself.

"What?" Ron asked, peering over her, always eager to see something gross.

"Cat drool," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose.

Ron shook his head. "Girls."

"Pfft. What do you know about girls?" Hermione mumbled, and immediately regretted saying it. Another time, she might have taken this opportunity to try to subtly tell Ron that maybe the two of them could be together, maybe they could act on all that tension between them. But not today. Today, it was all somehow less important than it was yesterday. Her anxiety about her almost-but-not-quite-relationship with Ron had never given her anything anyway, except perhaps a headache.

Ron coughed and both pretended her comment had gone unheard. Ron picked at the discarded wrapping and extracted the string that had precariously held the whole thing together. Ron played with it for some time, wrapping and unwrapping it around his fingers, before deciding that Crookshanks might enjoy it more than he did.

Almost immediately upon dangling the string in front of Crookshanks, the animal flew at it. The string was always painfully out of reach for poor Crookshanks as he danced around it. It didn't seem to bother the animal though. Ron made him jump in the air and run in fast little circles.

Ron laughed and Crookshanks meowed and twitched his tail in appreciation of the hunt. Crookshanks would pounce on Ron and Ron would grab him and rub his belly. Ron played with Crookshanks much more roughly than Hermione ever had. They both appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely. It all looked very immature, which Hermione thought was quite fitting, but found herself laughing all the same.

Before she had realized what was happening, Ron had dangled the string over Hermione's shoulder, and Crookshanks had thrown himself against Hermione in search of the ever-elusive string. Laughing at her cat's silliness, Hermione rolled away from him, while Ron continued to dangle the string over her body.

"C'mon Crookshanks," Ron laughed as Crookshanks dutifully climbed all over Hermione, while Hermione giggled and shrieked as the none-too-delicate animal tap-danced across her body. Crookshanks caught his claws on Hermione's jumper and nearly lost himself in her huge masses of hair, but none of this deterred him from stalking his prey.

Eventually, Crookshanks had the string tangled all around his body. He appeared quite satisfied with his victory and finally ran out of steam. Hermione was once again on her back, while Crookshanks lounged on her stomach. Ron scooted over to them. He lay on his side and gave Crookshanks a tickle.

"Crookshanks will be just fine," Ron said. He draped his arm around Hermione's waist and rested his head on her shoulder as though it had been the most natural thing in the world.

"I know," Hermione sighed, resting her head against Ron. Closing her eyes, Hermione let one hand continue stroking Crookshanks, while the other tangled itself in Ron's hair. All three purred in contentment.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Too #$&! long! I can't believe how #$&! long this thing is! Everything a pet owner needs to know about Kneazles could be fit into approximately 100 words, as I myself have so succinctly done in the past.

--Newt Scamander, author and noted Magizoologist

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_Most striking about the Kneazle is his ability to identify untrustworthy or unsavoury people and animals. It is currently unknown how Kneazles are able to do this, however, you can be sure that your Kneazle will never fail to alert you to those people or animals you would do well to avoid. Amazingly, Kneazles will not only discover distrustful characters, they are also able to identify when an otherwise trustworthy person is engaged in something they know to be wrong. Occasional reports have surfaced in which a Kneazle has alerted his owner to inadvisable or shady business dealings. For this reason, Kneazles are largely banned from weekly poker games and used broomstick dealerships. However, a Kneazle will occasionally display aggressive behaviour for no apparent reason. Therefore, it is essential that you track your Kneazle's moods, activities and most importantly, his reactions to those around him. I have devised a revolutionary log to enlighten you on your Kneazle's behaviour, which can be found in Appendix Q. You may find that it is more intricate and detailed than you might prefer, but in the interest of your Kneazle's care, I strongly suggest you follow the guidelines suggested here. _(excerpt from _For the Love of Kneazle_s by Beneficent Bast, pg 475)

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In search of her quarry, Hermione tread lightly around the stacks of boxes. Hermione was still amazed at how many boxes she and Ginny had accumulated in three short years. The official count of boxes was in the low forties, but Hermione was positive that there were literally thousands. While she was terribly excited to move into the old house she had just purchased in the country, the mountains of boxes prevented her from properly stalking her prey. She knew he was in here. She had seen him slink in between these boxes. Obviously, the guilt was tearing him up inside, as it should be. Noticing a tuft of orange fur around the corner of a box, Hermione hunched down to see her cat sitting contentedly among the boxes. She laid down on her stomach to better see him.

The problem with Crookshanks was that he didn't look particularly insane. Although Hermione wasn't one to openly admit it, he looked like a scruffy old cat with a smashed face. His favourite activity was sleeping, often times in the middle of the room, the middle of doorways, the middle of Hermione's bed, and so forth. But that certainly didn't make him crazy. It just made him. . . middling. His second favourite activity was sleeping in Hermione's lap, which Hermione thought was rather sweet.

And yet, here he was, purring contentedly, his eyes half shut. This calm, relaxed demeanour belied the fact that Crookshanks was completely unbalanced. Hermione was loathe to make such a claim. She had defended her cat countless times against unfair accusations, but she had been deceived for all these years. Crookshanks was a bad bad cat, or even worse, a crazy crazy cat. Hermione shook her finger at Crookshanks, just so he understood this, but it had no effect. The horrid animal just continued to lie there, his eyes half closed, his paws tucked under him, with not a care in the world. Hermione could forgive him this deception if he would just stop purring. It gave him an air of self-satisfaction that disgusted her.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Ginny called to her. "Are you interrogating Crookshanks again?"

"No," Hermione answered defiantly. "I'm just. . ."

Ginny peeked over the top of the wall of boxes and laughed at the picture of Hermione lying on her stomach, studying Crookshanks. "Trying to stare him down, make him break under the pressure and confess to his crime?" Ginny asked.

"Well maybe," Hermione said in a childish voice and hoisted herself up and manoeuvred herself out of the labyrinthine paths of boxes. "I still have no idea what he was thinking. It's just not like him to do that."

"Don't waste your time thinking about it, Hermione. That Mark guy sounds like a tosser anyway."

"It's more the principle of the thing, Ginny," Hermione said, throwing herself onto the sofa, between piles of Ginny's clothes. Hermione and Ginny rarely fought as roommates, but this moving business was grating on them both. Ginny's idea of moving was to grab armloads of things from her bedroom and dump them in the living room, which greatly conflicted with Hermione's nicely organized and labelled boxes. Hermione was quite looking forward to her own place at this point.

"And what principle is that?" Ginny asked, settling herself into the one armchair free of debris.

"I think Crookshanks is insane," Hermione said, with no little difficulty. Ginny laughed at her friend's dilemma.

"He's not insane Hermione."

"Well, how do you explain what he did then?" Hermione said dramatically.

"Hermione, I don't know why you're so upset about this. You didn't even really like Mark all that much." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Ginny cut her off. "You didn't. Maybe Crookshanks sensed that or something."

"You really think he could do that?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know Hermione. Crookshanks is a pretty smart animal."

"I guess," Hermione said sullenly. "I've just never seen him do anything like that before. Except to Scabbers."

"Don't think about it too much," Ginny said. "I know, I know," she said waving her arm, "Hermione Granger, deliberately not thinking about something." Ginny rolled her eyes. "There's a first time for everything, or so I hear anyway," she said, winking.

The two women heard the pop of Apparition outside the door to their flat. Something thunked against their door, and a masculine voice loudly cursed his misfortune.

"That'll be my knight in shining armour," Ginny mumbled, getting up to answer the door. "How that man defeated the most evil wizard of all time and still always seems to be thwarted by our door, I'll never know."

Harry walked into the room. Tossing the empty boxes he was carrying to the side, Harry rubbed his head.

"Hi Harry."

"Oh, hi Hermione. Say, did you take that spell off your door?" Harry asked.

"The one we put up for the Halloween party?" Hermione asked in reference to a very fun spell that had repeatedly amused and delighted their guests. Well, the spell had amused and delighted Ginny and Hermione, while it had frightened and terrified their guests for a brief moment before entering the flat.

"No, the other one," Harry said.

"I'm afraid I don't follow you Harry," Hermione said, smiling widely.

"You know, the one that makes things appear further away than they actually are?"

Hermione frowned in concentration, trying to recall such a spell. "_Longinquitatis erroris_?"

"Er yeah, that one." In an effort to stifle her laugh, Ginny snorted. She looked away when Harry glared at her.

"We've never used that one on our door," Hermione said, with a small laugh.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. Ginny erupted in laughter, completely unable to keep her mirth inside.

"I'm quite sure, Harry," Hermione cleared her throat. "I believe you are the only one to have experienced difficulties with our door." Hermione and Ginny had devised several theories over the course of the last couple of years as to just why Harry had issues with a door. Hermione had suspected that there was an unknown spell on the door targeted at poor Harry. When Harry had nearly knocked himself unconscious by running into their door, Hermione had performed every detection spell known to wizard-kind in an attempt to free her friend from the horrors of their door and found . . . nothing. It was just a door and Harry had difficulty operating this particular door. It was a source of great amusement for Hermione and Ginny.

Harry grunted in displeasure.

Crookshanks hopped up on the chair next to Harry and settled into his lap. "At least Crookshanks doesn't give me any trouble. Not like you women," he grumbled, scratching Crookshanks behind the ears.

"Crookshanks is in the doghouse right now," Ginny said mischievously.

"What have these women done to you Crookshanks?" Harry asked, pulling the animal up, so they could look each other in the eye. "You can tell me, I know all about their underhanded little ways." Ginny lightly hit him on the arm. "You see Crookshanks," Harry said, completely ignoring his girlfriend, "I know how it is. I know how brutal these women can be. Weaker sex my arse."

"Crookshanks attacked Hermione's date," Ginny said.

"He did?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione for verification. Hermione nodded. Harry patted Crookshanks on the head and again addressed the animal. "That was a good boy. Even though they're evil, we have to protect our women."

"It's not funny Harry," Hermione said as primly as she could.

"Yes it is," Ginny giggled. "Tell him Hermione. Tell him what Crookshanks did," Ginny said with the enthusiasm of a four year old asking for her favourite story. Hermione shook her head.

"C'mon Hermione," Harry cajoled, "give a guy a break. I've spent the whole week on an unsuccessful stakeout. Do you know what we do on stakeouts Hermione? Do you?" he asked, accusingly. Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I could use a good story." Hermione did have to admit that he looked drawn and haggard.

"Fine," Hermione sighed, "but you're going to be disappointed."

Harry shrugged.

"Well, I've kind of been seeing this guy Mark," Hermione started.

"Who's a prick," Ginny interjected.

"Do you want me to tell the story or not?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, but I think it's important that Harry know he's a prick."

"He's not," Hermione said, waving her hands, "he's just . . . "

"Tell him about the way he kissed you."

"No!" Hermione exclaimed in indignation. She could talk to Ginny about the men in her life and Ginny regularly discussed the more intimate details of her relationship with Harry, but Hermione simply couldn't talk about men with Harry. It would be like discussing men with her father, which Hermione just couldn't fathom.

"Oh, don't be such a prude Hermione." Turning to Harry, Ginny continued, "He stuck his tongue so far down her throat that she gagged." Harry's face twisted in horror at the thought and Ginny laughed.

"He apologized," Hermione said, more to defend her own decision to date Mark, than to defend the man himself. Why in the world she had even accepted a second date after he had probed her mouth like an especially inept alien on their first, she didn't know. But his apology had sounded so sincere and heartfelt. There was something about Mark that didn't seem quite right, but being that Hermione couldn't identify just what it was, she guessed it was all in her imagination. He was such a gentleman - he was interested in what she had to say, and he was overwhelming charming. Mark had treated her the way that magazines marketed to the modern young man suggested, with a bit of soft pornography on the side to make it all go down easier - feign interest, ask questions, laugh with her and make sure she has her orgasm first, and Mark had done a magnificent job. Of course, Hermione wasn't sure about the orgasm bit. She had briefly considered investigating the matter, but after sharing a kiss with Mark, Hermione was quite sure that she didn't want him probing any other part of her body, although she couldn't help but wonder at the full capabilities of that tongue of his.

"Sounds like a real winner," Harry said.

"That's beside the point. He came here to pick me up for our third date."

"Third date," Harry said, wagging his eyebrows, "you know what that means."

"Stuff it, Potter," Ginny said.

Hermione glared at Harry and continued her story. "Anyway, he got here a little early and I wasn't quite done getting ready. I went back to my room and I was there about two seconds and then I hear this yelling, so I ran back out here and . . ." Hermione waved her hands around, not quite sure how to explain the spectacle she had walked in on.

"Yeah and - " Ginny said eagerly, even though she had already heard most of the particulars of the occasion.

"Well, Mark was twirling all around here and knocking things over. I don't know how he did it, but Crookshanks was on top of Mark's head, clawing at him. Mark kept trying to pull him off, but Crookshanks just kept moving around. First, he was on his head, then he was on his back, and he was just hissing and biting. I had to pull Crookshanks off him."

"Hermione's not telling it right," Ginny said.

"How would you know, you weren't there!"

"Yeah, but I was here to help you clean up afterwards," Ginny shot back, turning to tell Harry everything she knew. "When I got back from work, Hermione's got this poor man bound to a chair in the middle of the living room. He's all scratched up and bleeding. Hermione's pacing and muttering and Crookshanks keeps circling the man and growling at him. The guy's yelling about how Hermione is a freak and her cat is evil and she'd better get that stick thing away from him."

"Stick thing?" Harry asked, his eyes much wider than usual.

"Her wand, you idiot."

"Oh. A Muggle huh?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

"There was stuffing pulled out of the sofa, two of our lamps were broken, several pictures were on the floor, and Crookshanks just kept circling this guy and the best part is," Ginny laughed, "this guy kept throwing insults at Crookshanks and taunting him, asking for a rematch. He was hopping around in his chair, like this." Ginny held her arms to her sides and hopped up and down on her chair. "His face was all red, it was just. . . the absolute funniest thing I've ever seen" Ginny doubled over in laughter.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "What made you go out with this guy anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "He asked me."

It had been very reasonable to accept a date from Mark. He fulfilled the three requirements she, Ginny and Luna had fashioned after a night of too much reflection on relationships and far too much wine. First, Mark was indeed a man. Hermione had not taken the opportunity to fully investigate the matter, but she was quite sure that her deductive reasoning was sound on this point. Second, he wasn't noticeably psychotic. Hermione didn't consider superficiality and banality to be mental illnesses, just quaint, if supremely irritating little character flaws. Third, he was interested in her. Hermione had long ago lowered her standards when considering a date. She had decided that she was far too discriminating and she could very well let the man of her dreams slip through her fingers simply because he wasn't literate, had revolutionary ideas about personal hygiene, or thought ladybugs were harbingers of death. Price Charming himself might be disguised by such interesting traits, for all she knew.

Ginny continued to laugh. "And get this, Hermione had put all these protective spells around Mark so Crookshanks couldn't get at him, but Crookshanks climbed up on the bookcase and leapt down on Mark and he," Ginny paused to giggle, "he screamed like a little girl."

"What'd you guys do? Memory charm?"

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. It had been quite a long night.

Harry gave Hermione a very strange look. Hermione looked away from him. "Hey Gin, you promised me dinner if I helped you move," Harry said.

"Oh shit, I forgot," Ginny said, racing to the kitchen.

Harry picked up Crookshanks, pushed Ginny's clothes to the floor and sat next to Hermione on the sofa.

"You okay?" he asked putting an arm around her. Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did you really have a thing for this guy or something?" Harry asked, gently stroking her hair.

"Oh no. It wouldn't have gone anywhere. There really was something about him that I didn't like. Plus he was an idiot."

"Then what is it?"

Hermione shrugged against him and said with a smile, "Sometimes, a girl doesn't like being reminded that her cat is smarter than she is."

It wasn't quite a lie, but it also wasn't quite the truth. Hermione didn't know just what had started it – if Crookshanks had attacked Mark, or if Mark had taunted Crookshanks or tried to hurt him. Either way, Mark hadn't so much as gotten his hands on Crookshanks, but from the enraged look on his face, Hermione was simply positive that Mark would have broken Crookshanks's neck in the end if he could have. It had been the briefest of moments before Hermione stunned Mark and tore Crookshanks away from him, but she remembered that look of Mark's, that frothy, mad look and she shuddered at the thought of what might have happened to Crookshanks.

"He's not smarter than you," Harry forced out through his chuckles.

"Yeah well," Hermione sighed. "There was just something about that guy and Crookshanks figured him out before I did. It's quite an experience to realise your cat is smarter than you," Hermione said, grinning up at her friend, trying to shake off the electrifying shock and fear she had felt when she had seen Mark violently twirling and twisting, reaching for her gnarling, snarling Crookshanks.

After she and Ginny had dealt with Mark, Hermione had found herself in the interesting position of being irrationally furious with Crookshanks for putting himself in harms way. Ginny had misinterpreted Hermione's anger and Hermione didn't dissuade her from that notion. Hermione had tried to talk herself into forgiving Crookshanks, firstly because he had probably acted on instinct and secondly, because it was just unreasonable. While Hermione could handle irrationality in others, she didn't find it in any way acceptable in herself.

"See, that's where I have you beat. I've always known Hedwig was smarter than me and I figured out that Crookshanks was smarter than me a loooong time ago." Harry paused and scratched the cat behind his torn ear. Crookshanks tilted his head, showing Harry just where he needed to be scratched. "Remember how he found us?" Harry asked in a faraway voice.

"Yeah," Hermione said airily. "That was pretty amazing."

"I still don't know how he did it. I mean we Apparated everywhere," Harry said, looking down at the cat, as though hoping for an answer from Crookshanks himself. Crookshanks's only answer was a deep sigh as he settled more deeply into Harry's lap.

Hermione snuggled in closer to Harry and Crookshanks. "I'll never forget that," she said, silently recalling the moment not two months after they had left the Burrow to search for the horcruxes. It had been very late at night and the three friends had been rather shaken by some information they had learned earlier in the day. Sitting quietly around the fire, each absently munched on their dinner. Hermione remembered how she had trembled for hours that night after discovering evidence that fully demonstrated what humans were willing and capable of committing.

Harry had been the first to spot him. He'd given a strangled shout and exclamation. She and Ron had scrambled to their feet, wands at the ready, only to find Crookshanks trotting toward them. Crookshanks had acted as he always did - he didn't seem overly surprised to see them, he didn't celebrate his discovery in any way, he had simply rubbed against their legs and later, settled himself into Hermione's lap. More than once on their journey, Crookshanks had alerted them to the presence of those who would do them harm. That soft low growl of his had twice given them a moments advantage in surprise attacks. He hadn't made that sound in years, but in retrospect, Hermione thought she may have heard it when Mark had entered the flat.

"Don't feel too bad. So he might be smarter than you. He's got to be one of the smarter creatures out there. Plus, he'll weed out all the nasty dates you might bring home," Harry said, lightening the conversation.

Hermione smiled and protectively wrapped an arm around Crookshanks. "Yeah, he is a good cat isn't he?" Crookshanks purred.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The best book of the millennium! Never has any book of any kind meant so much to me and provided me with such valuable information. Insightful, sensitive and revolutionary!

--Philomena Felinius, Secretary, Nifty Kneazle Society of Great Britain

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_The single most important thing to do in your Kneazle's first year is to take him to your Magizoologist and have your little treasure spayed or neutered. The breeding of Kneazles is a delicate business and far too often our noble Kneazles have interbred with stray cats. You may find using popular potions a more humane method of keeping your Kneazle from other cats, but let me assure you that this is not a permanent fix and could indeed lead to unpleasant side effects. In the interest of preserving the pure breed of Kneazle, it is of utmost importance to get your Kneazle "fixed," unless of course, you are one of the two witches certified to breed Kneazles with the Nifty Kneazle Society of Great Britain. If you are not Philomena Felinius, or Lucrecia Leonis, you _must_ get your Kneazle spayed or neutered. Failure to do so will automatically bar you from the Nifty Kneazle Society and their internationally celebrated Christmas Party. Further information on the Nifty Kneazle Society and its branches throughout the world can be found in Appendix Z4. _(excerpt from _For the Love of Kneazle_s by Beneficent Bast, pg 912)

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By virtue of her sex, Hermione felt that she should be better equipped to deal with the present situation. Was there not some sort of odd connection between all mammalian females? Some kind of uterine-based secret knowledge that magically manifested itself in times like this? Luna didn't seem to have any more knowledge on the current subject than Hermione, but while Luna was unperturbed by her lack of knowledge, Hermione silently berated herself for not getting a proper book on the subject.

Among the four spectators to the birth, Crookshanks and Luna were the calmest. Neville looked a bit green and occasionally mumbled incoherently. Hermione shifted uncomfortably and looked away at times, thoroughly disappointed in her inability to offer advice or assistance in any way. Luna calmly pointed out interesting or unexpected bits and wondered aloud exactly what would happen next or the purpose of the more unpleasant aspects. Neville would then get even greener. Crookshanks watched with what could most accurately be called detached interest. Because of his interest, he had become an item of interest to the other three.

"Of course he understands. Look at the way he's watching Freya. He knows that she's going to have his kittens," Luna stated with calm confidence.

"It could be Luna," Neville piped up enthusiastically, apparently grateful for a distraction from the main event. "But I think it's unlikely. He's probably just here because everyone else in the house is here or maybe he's just curious. It's cats who are supposed to be curious, right?"

Hermione laughed at his confused expression, reminiscent of his younger days. "Yes Neville."

"I think he's obviously here to support Freya," Luna said. "They are an item after all."

"They're not an item Luna. The only time they hang out together is when she's in heat," Neville said.

"Yes, but they live here together. They're friends at the very least.

"Just because they don't try to kill each other doesn't mean they're friends. You've seen the way they fight with each other sometimes," Neville said, admirably trying to maintain his argument in an effort to divert his own attention away from the birth. Neville found the whole thing to be rather disconcerting and felt he really oughtn't be there.

"Yes, but it's just play-fighting. They never actually hurt each other. It's probably the way cats flirt with each other, you know, like thirteen-year-olds," Luna answered. Luna had the uncanny ability few possessed to turn any rational argument on its head and sound nominally reasonable.

"They're just cats, Luna," Neville said.

"Of course they're not just cats. Crookshanks seems to be at least part-Kneazle and I know for a fact that Freya is one of the last descendants of the Grimalkins," Luna stated serenely

"The what?" Neville asked, looking to Hermione. Hermione just shook her head as if to say that Neville would have done better not to ask.

"Why the Grimalkins of course. They are an ancient species of cat that possess magical powers. They are very fond of their privacy, so sightings are extremely rare. You notice of course, the way that Freya prefers to be on her own and she has the tell-tale dark grey fur. I say - look at this. I think the first one's coming out."

Neville pointedly looked away from the scene and loudly said, "Well what do you think Hermione?"

"Maybe," Hermione said absently, not quite sure what Neville was asking. Try as she might, she couldn't look away from the scene in front of her. She had never seen anything actually being born before and while Freya dealt with it all very calmly, Hermione's eyes were wide with a disgusted sort of fascination. Freya wasn't yowling in pain, although from Hermione's perspective, it appeared she ought to be.

"Oh look," Luna said in that breathless way people acknowledge moments of beauty and truth, transcendence and unity.

"Oh God," Neville said, slightly gagging on his words. Apparently feeling that this wasn't the place for any male to be present, Neville grabbed Crookshanks, held the animal in front of him like a shield and began walking out of the kitchen backwards.

"You know guys, I'm just gonna go, okay? But if you need me, just call me. But only if you really _really _need help, because you know I've already told you all I know about this . . . this whole thing," Neville babbled, his voice becoming increasingly high-pitched. "Because you know, I'd help you guys out with anything. You know that right? I would do anything for you guys." Hermione and Luna nodded at the truth of it. "Well I'll just be in the greenhouse, in case you might need me."

As soon as he left the confines of the kitchen, Neville turned his back on them and practically ran out of the room, with Crookshanks still in his arms.

"Bye Neville. Don't forget to log your progress on the Fanged Geranium," Luna called after him, completely undisturbed by Neville's defection to the greenhouse.

"I think this makes him uncomfortable," Luna said to Hermione in her innocent matter-of-fact tone, which made it impossible to answer with anything but sincerity.

"I think you're right," Hermione said, despondently. While Luna was perfectly content to see Neville go, as he probably would have been more of a hindrance than anything, Hermione mourned his absence. In this situation, it seemed better to have more people with no idea what to do rather than less. If anything, it lessened her culpability.

Hermione and Luna turned back to the labouring animal. It was apparent that the first kitten would be with them quite soon.

"What does the book say we're supposed to do?" Luna asked.

Hermione turned her head away from Freya, but her eyes continued to watch the animal. It was all horrifyingly hypnotizing. Hermione never would have thought it would be so difficult to look away from something inherently unpleasant. At length, Hermione tore her eyes away from the animal and for the hundredth time that evening, thumbed through the pathetic little pamphlet that the Magizoologist had given them, hoping to glean some scrap of heretofore missed information. The pamphlet encouraged pet owners not to resort to magic to aid in the delivery as this generally led to less-than-pleasant results. The publishers of the pamphlet were kind enough to include illustrations of what generally happened when magic was used in delivery. The three poorly executed drawings could very well provide nightmare material for the rest of one's natural life.

The pamphlet mostly discussed the importance of having extra blankets, some warm water and disinfectant available, but declined to share just what exactly should be done with these items. The most helpful phrase was that the pet owner should be prepared to "help the mother along in any way necessary," but neglected to outline what that involved. The majority of the pamphlet was dedicated to toilet-training new kittens, which Hermione conceded was very important, but not at this juncture.

"Nothing," Hermione cursed and tossed the thing aside. She now found that once she had looked away from Freya, she was incapable of returning her gaze to witness the miracle of birth. The squelching sounds were quite enough to quell her curiosity.

"Oh well, Freya seems to be doing just fine on her own." Luna moved around Freya's box to get a better view of the proceedings. As Freya gave a low little howl, Hermione became even more determined not to watch. Hermione decided that this was a good time to commence her inspection of the ceiling. After all, she had lived here for five years and had never properly looked at her own kitchen ceiling. She was in no way inspecting the ceiling at the particular moment because the most disgusting thing in the world was happening mere centimetres from where she sat, she was inspecting it because it needed to be done. Scanning the ceiling, Hermione noted that Harry had not done a very good job of the painting spells he had sworn he could do with his hands tied behind his back. She would have to Floo him and suggest that he might need to brush up on his handiwork.

It was several long minutes before the two women continued their conversation.

"Is it supposed to look like that?" Luna asked.

"Er-" Hermione noted that there were also some cracks in the ceiling that merited her attention. She would have to talk to Harry about the importance of taking pride in one's workmanship.

"Hermione. Look," Luna said in her most demanding voice. Hermione had little choice but to follow the note of direction in Luna's voice. It was something rarely heard.

"Oh. It looks-" Hermione waved her hand around in search of the perfect word.

"Slimy."

"Yes. . .yes, slimy." Once again, Hermione found herself unequal to the task of looking away.

"It kind of looks like a drowned rat, doesn't it?"

Hermione frowned in thought. "I guess it kind of does."

"It isn't very cute, is it?" Luna asked.

"Not especially, no."

Freya cleaned the newborn mewling kitten and eventually moved it to the corner of the box. It was nearly an hour before Freya would give birth to the next kitten. In that time, Crookshanks had trotted back to the kitchen and crouched next to the Birthing Box. Freya ignored his presence and Crookshanks ignored hers. Rather, he watched the new born kitten slither around its little corner of the box.

By the time the third and final kitten had arrived, the whole process seemed much less disgusting to Hermione. Luna was as fascinated with the third birth as she had been with the first. The first kitten looked like Freya with its sleek grey fur. The second was a little version of Crookshanks with wiry orange fur and a smashed cat face. The third was a strange combination of the two, with patches of grey and orange fur. Luna and Hermione decided that while the third one was the ugliest of the three, he was their favourite.

By some strange agreement, Crookshanks and Freya took turns cleaning each of the kittens. Neville eventually returned to the kitchen after Luna and Hermione had assured him that the worst was over.

"Luna, are you sure we need to ask all these questions of possible owners?" Neville asked, looking over the long list Luna had compiled when she discovered Freya would be having kittens.

"Of course, Neville. We want to make sure that the kittens go to good and loving homes don't we?"

"Well yes," Neville said, his brow furrowing, "but do we really need to know their astrological signs and their favourite flavour of ice cream?"

"Of course not, but only those who really want the kittens will answer those questions. Anyone who doesn't really want them will laugh or deride the questions," Luna said, reaching in the box to scratch Freya on the head. "These kittens have to go to homes where people are willing to undergo a little interrogation."

Neville looked to Hermione for verification of such a tactic. Hermione gave him a little shrug. Luna could be surprisingly perceptive about people sometimes. People often found themselves frustrated and unnerved in Luna's presence, consequently revealing the very best or worst of their personalities. Hermione had discovered much about people in observing the way they reacted to Luna. Luna could also be surprisingly dotty at times as well and her questions might just be the product of an over-active mind.

"Well, maybe we don't have to get rid of them," Neville said. "Maybe when you and I move out, we can take some, so that Hermione would only have Crookshanks and maybe another kitten."

"We have several weeks to decide what to do with them. They'll have to stay with Freya a couple of months at least." Hermione said, hoping to cut off Neville's line of thought. She rather hoped that Neville and Luna wouldn't feel the need to move out anytime soon, although if the looks Neville was giving Luna were any indication, they wouldn't be staying with her much longer. Hermione rather enjoyed having other people stay with her. After living alone for a time, she had found she missed the activity provided by other people.

"I'm going to bed guys," Neville yawned. Freya had had the good sense to have her kittens in the middle of the night, when all self-respecting cats have their kittens. Looking at the clock, Hermione realized that it was four in the morning. Luna extinguished the lights and followed Neville up the stairs to their separate bedrooms.

Peering into the basket, Hermione could see that Freya was asleep with her kittens cuddled against her. Crookshanks still sat next to the basket, licking his paw.

Hermione reached down to pat his head. "You're a good boy, Crookshanks," she said. Crookshanks butted his head against her hand in a sign of affection.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

If you need 2700 pages of pretentious instructions from a nagging blowhard on how to raise what is essentially a damn cat, do wizarding society a favour, and remove yourself from the gene pool. Immediately.

--Rita Skeeter, reporter for our very own Daily Prophet

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_The cleaning and grooming of Kneazles is a pleasant task. Kneazles are most fastidious in keeping themselves clean, but enjoy being groomed and bathed. Some Kneazles are known to be very vain creatures. Some owners prefer to take their Kneazles to a professional groomer, and while I would suggest you do this for the first few times, I do recommend that you learn to do it yourself quite early in your relationship with your Kneazle. Grooming and bathing your Kneazle will bring you much closer and create a bond that cannot be broken. A Kneazle should be brushed several times a week, preferably every day. Bathing need not be done on such a frequent schedule. Most Kneazles can get by with two baths a year, but some will need them more often. I find that my Kneazles have always enjoyed a warm bath at least once a month. If I am lax in administering their baths, I will find them waiting in the kitchen sink for me! Before purchasing any soap, make sure that you are aware of your Kneazle's skin and fur conditions. Discuss this with your Magizoologist as some Kneazles are allergic to some washes made specifically for Kneazles. A more detailed account of Kneazle skin conditions can be found in Appendix B8. My personal recommendations for grooming products can be found in Appendix M. _(excerpt from _For the Love of Kneazle_s by Beneficent Bast, pg 1216)

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Some sounds break hearts and mutilate souls beyond recognition. Some sounds rip through bodies, shatter bones and melt brains.

There are some sounds only the damned have heard; some sounds only those who have slid into the inner circles of hell have heard. Some sounds are so inhuman, so horrible, so frightening that even the most devoted atheist will cry out to any convenient god to save him from the physical and spiritual horror of the sound.

Hermione had now joined their ranks.

Surely only supremely tortured hell-sent demons intent on destroying all living beings could make the sounds Crookshanks was making upon receiving a bath. His howls were nothing short of ungodly. Silently, Hermione offered up a short prayer to the Egyptian God of Cats. Although she did not even know if there was an Egyptian God of Cats (it seemed reasonable, but it was all conjecture on her part at this point), and she did not believe in such a god in any case, she imagined it certainly couldn't make things any worse.

Hermione ran a soapy hand across her forehead in a futile attempt to get her hair out of her sweaty, grimy face. Her other hand had a vice-like grip around Crookshanks's squirming middle. It took most of her strength to keep him in the sink. It just didn't seem right that Crookshanks should almost match Hermione in brute strength. All around, it was a rather humbling experience to know that her familiar, who weighed about a stone, could probably kick her arse if he wanted to, especially if he caught her in a surprise attack.

She tried to be patient, she tried to speak in calming, soothing tones, but something about having an unstable, fiery animal clawing at her arms and howling like a madman methodically destroyed her patience. Being a rational person, Hermione could only squelch the inner voice that told her to stun the little monster and finish his bath in peace for so long.

"Crookshanks dear, it will just be a little longer. The nice lady at the Magical Menagerie said we had to-"

Hermione was interrupted by her own yelp of pain as Crookshanks had somehow managed to sink four sets of sharp little claws into her while he tried to scramble away, but by some miracle, she did not release him.

The poor animal's eyes were positively wild, his growls low and loud, his howls high and strangled, his hisses long and deep. It was enough to bring the most seasoned lion tamer to his knees, but Hermione was determined. The woman at the Magical Menagerie had insisted that an animal of Crookshanks's age really needed a special shampoo to keep his skin and fur nice and healthy. Hermione was nothing if not a very conscientious pet owner. Hermione had a feeling that the woman at the Magical Menagerie was some kind of sadist and was secretly cackling at all the poor bastards who had believed her through the years. She made a mental note to patronize other pet stores from now on.

"Now Dearest, don't be like that," Hermione pleaded, trying to untangle some of his wild fur.

Crookshanks answered Hermione's entreaty with a yowl that clearly said he would be any way he damn well wanted to be. "This will make your skin feel better. See what the bottle says, _Gertrude Nivelle's Ever So Nice Kitty Wash for Sensitive Skin_. See how happy the kitty on the bottle looks?" Hermione asked rather pathetically, gesturing with her head toward the picture of the stupid smiling cat on the bottle while she awkwardly pinned Crookshanks in the corner of the sink. The happy kitty on the bottle did little to placate Crookshanks. If Hermione made it through this encounter alive, she had plans to write a very angry letter to one Gertrude Nivelle about her Ever So Horrid Kitty Wash.

"Hermione!" a frightened voice called from the front room. "Are you alright?" Catching her by surprise, Hermione momentarily loosened her grip on Crookshanks. He made a desperate attempt at freedom, effectively sloshing half the contents of the sink onto Hermione's front. Hermione coughed and sputtered against all the soapy water. With one last discontented howl, Crookshanks streaked through the kitchen and out the door.

Ron burst into the kitchen with his wand drawn, looking as though he was ready to do battle with the Dark Lord himself. "Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly, unable to locate any threat. "I heard the worst noise in here."

Hermione shook the water off her arms and wiped her face on her sleeve. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just trying to give Crookshanks a bath." Sputtering, Hermione realized she could taste the kitty shampoo. The vileness of the stuff almost allowed her to forgive Crookshanks for his abominable behaviour. Almost.

Ron looked stunned and blinked several times. Cocking an eyebrow, he said, "I don't think he liked it very much."

"Yes thank you, Weasley, for that update," Hermione said through clenched teeth. She glanced out the window to see that the last twenty minutes of pure torture had culminated in Crookshanks rolling around in the compost heap.

As she watched Crookshanks frolic in the jumble of rotting vegetable detritus, a mighty battle raged in Hermione's brain. The two factions were equally matched. One side rallied for allowing the little prick to run around dirty if he wanted to, but banning him from the house. Overall, they were willing to employ far more questionable techniques than the other side. However, the side that fought for finishing the job properly because he was a beloved familiar had moral righteousness on their side. They rallied their forces in the way only the righteous can, and subsequently defeated Little Prick's forces in the fiercest battle Hermione's frontal lobe had seen in years.

Hermione sighed.

From the window, Hermione saw Crookshanks dive back into the compost heap and happily emerge covered in potato skins, so Hermione sighed again, just for good measure.

"You uh, want some help there Hermione?" Ron asked, the laughter evident in his voice.

Hermione squeezed some water out of her shirt and said, with as much dignity as possible, "If you insist." Ron smiled good-naturedly.

Ron stepped past Hermione and peered out the window at Crookshanks. "How d'you think we should approach this?"

Hermione resignedly slumped into a chair. "Hell if I know."

Ron wrinkled his brow in thought and asked, "You have any sleeping potion?"

Hermione's head snapped to attention at the thought of giving her precious little Crookshanks some sleeping potion. "What?"

"Sleeping potion. You know, a potion that makes you sleep," Ron smirked.

Hermione narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "What're you going to do with it? What're you going to do to Crookshanks?" she demanded.

"Just trust me, okay?" Ron said, with a look of earnestness that Hermione found she could not deny. In truth, Hermione couldn't deny the sheer exhaustion and general crabbiness, but it wasn't nearly as endearing as the first explanation.

"In the bathroom cabinet," Hermione said, resting her head on the back of the chair.

Ron bounded out of the room, apparently in search of sleeping potion.

Within a few minutes, Ron and Hermione were standing outside. Ron seemed to have a plan, and Hermione was ready to do whatever he said. She was tired, scratched up and bleeding. Crookshanks continued to roll in the compost heap as though taunting her. If he was capable of laughing, Hermione was sure he would be. Hermione directed her fiercest glare in his general direction.

"Alright, you ready?" Ron asked, looking at her with boyish enthusiasm.

"For what?" Hermione asked tremulously. Ron grinned, and he looked seventeen again.

"_Accio Crookshanks!_" Hermione watched in horror as Crookshanks pumped his bandied little legs in the air. He looked absolutely terrified.

"Oh Ron, no!" Hermione cried. She hated to see Crookshanks so terrified and she instinctively pulled on Ron's wand arm, but Ron did not waver. He deftly and gently shook her off.

Ron caught Crookshanks in his hands and pressed the dirty, wet animal against him. Crookshanks struggled violently against him. Ron dipped his finger in the sleeping potion and pressed it into Crookshanks's mouth. Within a few seconds, Crookshanks had calmed considerably and while not asleep, hung limply in Ron's arms.

"Levitate him Hermione," Ron said.

"What?" Hermione said breathlessly, horrified at the scene.

"Levitate him." He turned to look at her. "Trust me."

"_Wingardium Leviosa_."

"_Aguamenti_!" Water shot out from the tip of Ron's wand. He washed off the dirt and grime. Very efficiently, he squirted some cat shampoo on his hand, quickly washed the animal and then rinsed him again.

"_Aridus_!" Ron moved his wand over Crookshanks, drying his fur.

"There!" Ron said, proudly presenting a clean Crookshanks. Hermione grabbed him out of the air and checked his vital signs.

Seeing Hermione's concern, Ron said, "Don't worry Hermione, he's fine. We got him all clean in about two minutes." Hermione could not deny that all around, Ron's method was much quicker and was probably more humane than her attempts to clean Crookshanks. And Hermione couldn't deny the evidence, Crookshanks was indeed clean, alive and breathing.

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Are you kidding? That's the way Mum used to clean the twins up."

Hermione snorted and then saw the look on Ron's face. "Oh, you're serious."

"Mm-mm."

"Really?" Hermione asked, once again struck by how different her Muggle childhood had been compared to the magical one Ron had experienced.

"Yeah, she always had trouble getting them to take a bath. Well you can just imagine what they were like as kids," Ron chuckled, "You should have seen it. These two naked little boys twisting in the air. Seriously, it was hilarious."

Hermione grinned, "I would have thought the twins would enjoy that."

"Well, there was that, but then Mum started washing them with Mrs Scower's Magical Mess Remover."

Hermione drew in a hissing breath at the thought of such a harsh potion against her skin.

"Yeah, that put a stop to that."

"Well, thanks for your help. Crookshanks and I probably would have killed each other getting him clean," Hermione said, absently stroking Crookshanks's newly clean fur.

"I doubt that. Maybe severely wounded each other, but not killed."

Ron and Hermione leisurely walked back to the house. "What are you doing here anyway Ron?"

"Oh," he scratched the back of his head, "I was just wondering if you were going to Neville and Luna's wedding."

"Of course," Hermione said.

"I take it you're going with Edward," Ron said, very casually.

"Oh no. Didn't I tell you? Edward and I broke up." Hermione looked up at him, unable to read his expression.

"Sorry."

"I'm not," Hermione said. The last time she and Edward had gone out, Hermione had feared for her very life. She had always thought that the phrase "dying of boredom" was just an expression, but had discovered otherwise upon spending an evening with Edward and his friends. A more boring group of people didn't exist any where else in the world, Hermione was just sure of it.

"You, uh, you want to go together? You know, as friends," Ron said.

"Aren't you going with Amy?"

"Nah, she's a twit."

Hermione laughed, glad that Ron had said it so she didn't have to.

"So, how 'bout it?" Ron pressed.

"Sure, that would be nice."

"Great. I gotta go and I'll meet you here next Saturday, yeah?"

"Alright." Ron Disapparated with a pop and Hermione puzzled over his behaviour for a moment and then shrugged. She carried her comatose cat up to her bedroom and placed him on her bed.

She gently stroked his fur. "Next bath time, we'll know what to do, won't we boy?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

There are some nuggets of wisdom scattered throughout this book. However, due to the sheer size of this work, those nuggets are few and far between. Ms Bast's understanding of the relationship between a human and his familiar is sometimes irritating, sometimes quite insightful and sometimes surprisingly touching. Ms Bast quite obviously knows much about Kneazles, however, some of her ideas are quite elitist and some border on the controversial. The casual pet owner would do much better to purchase a much more concise work on Kneazles.

--Hermione Granger, freelance writer. Her work has appeared in the Daily Prophet, The Quibbler, Ars Magna and many other Magical and Muggle publications.

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_The life span of Kneazles will range anywhere from twenty to fifty years. A Pure Blood Kneazle will generally live much longer than any Kneazle who has the blood of a common cat. Diseases and afflictions common to Kneazles have been covered in Chapter Sixteen, Section 2, Part A. In an effort to prolong the life of your Kneazle, make sure to take him to your Magizoologist at least twice a year. Be aware of any great changes in mood or disposition as such changes often indicate more serious problems. It has been discovered that most Kneazles will not succumb to any particular disease, but will simply die of heart failure, or rather, old age. _

_The loss of any pet can be exceedingly difficult. The loss of a Kneazle can be devastating. As those of us who have been fortunate enough to form a bond with a Kneazle can attest, Kneazles are much more than pets. They are able to sense your pain and will therefore comfort you. They will protect you or warn you to those people who would harm you. They are our confidantes and friends. Due to their intelligent and perceptive nature, losing a Kneazle is much more like losing a best friend than a pet. It is essential you take time to grieve for your Kneazle when that unfortunate time comes. Do not feel guilty about the pain you are feeling or let anyone tell you that you are exaggerating your loss. Employ the same techniques for grieving for your Kneazle as you would for a family member or friend. It is generally not a good idea to get a new Kneazle soon after the death of your previous Kneazle. You must take time to say good-bye and grieve for your old friend before you can be prepared to welcome a new friend into your home. _(excerpt from _For the Love of Kneazle_s by Beneficent Bast, pg 1645)

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"Mummy, mummy, mummy!" a little girl squealed as she tore around the corner. Luna swept her daughter up in her arms and kissed her cheek.

"I missed you sweetie." Turning to Hermione, Luna asked, "How was she?"

Hermione tousled her god-child's hair. "A perfect angel, as always." Emmeline beamed from the attention.

"What did you do this week sweetie?"

"Me 'n Auntie Mine caught toads in the creek 'n we made cookies," she said, counting off on her fingers.

"That sounds wonderful," Luna said, completely engrossed with her daughter's ramblings. Hermione rather doubted that a more attentive parent than Luna existed.

"Yeah, I made them almost all by myself. Auntie Mine only helped a little, when I got egg in my hair," Emmeline said, pointing to her head.

"That was terribly nice of her," Luna said and smiled at Hermione.

Emmeline squirmed in her Mother's arms. "I have to show you what I made for you Mummy!" The little girl ran out of the room, and within a second ran back in.

"Look, I made this for you," Emmeline said proudly, offering her gift to her mother.

"Oh honey, it's beautiful," Luna gasped and delicately tied the necklace that consisted of a single button on a piece of string around her neck.

"You look pretty so Mummy." Emmeline fingered her handiwork. "An' guess what else?" Emmeline rambled on excitedly, jumping up and down in the boundless energy that children always seem to possess and that adults simultaneously envy and despise.

"What?"

"We sent Crookshanks to kitty heaven." Emmeline threw her hands up in the air in a joyous movement.

"Kitty heaven?" Luna asked.

"Yeah, kitty heaven. Daddy told me all about toady heaven when Rupert died and Auntie Mine told me all about kitty heaven." Hermione smiled nervously and looked away.

Luna opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by her husband. "There's my little girl!"

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" The little girl threw herself into her Daddy's arms, just as she had done with her Mummy.

While Emmeline chattered away, Luna sidled over to Hermione, grasped her hand and held it tightly. Such a simple little gesture almost broke the dam that had held Hermione's tears at bay for a week. Hermione swallowed hard to spare herself the humiliation of weeping in front of others.

"An' guess what Daddy? Me and Auntie Mine caught a new toad in the creek and Auntie Mine said I could keep him. Come and see," Emmeline said excitedly, as she pulled on her father's arm. "His name's Samuel!"

"That's a pretty good name sweetie," Neville said, happily trailing his daughter.

As soon as her daughter was out of earshot, Luna asked concernedly, "What happened Hermione?"

Hermione shrugged as though it was no big concern of hers. "He just passed on in his sleep. He wasn't sick or anything. Don't worry, I buried him before Emmy could see him," Hermione said. Hermione had prepared herself for this encounter all day. Luna could often get Hermione to confess to things others simply couldn't. Luna's guileless affection for those she loved was surprisingly disarming. But Hermione wanted to keep her grief to herself this time. It felt too personal to share, even with one so equipped to help her manage it as Luna. This was hers, and she was determined to keep it to herself.

"Oh Hermione, I'm so sorry," Luna said sympathetically.

"These things happen," Hermione shrugged, taking a step away from Luna.

Luna looked at her sideways. "I think we should talk about this Hermione," Luna said. Her voice was without discernible pity or emotion. It was simply a statement of truth. Luna's expression was so open and so warm that Hermione nearly forgot her pledge to keep it all in. Hermione knew, without a moment's doubt that Luna would cry and reminisce with her all night if Hermione merely intimated she wanted Luna to stay with her. Luna was just the kind of woman to give up everything to comfort a beloved friend, the kind of friend everyone deserves but few truly possess.

Hermione smiled wryly. "There's nothing to say Luna. He's just a cat," she said, involuntarily wincing. Hermione had practised saying, "he's just a cat" in her head all day, but she hadn't counted on how much it would hurt to actually pronounce the treacherous words.

Luna looked doubtful and paused before speaking, which was quite a rare occurrence for her. "Well, if you want to talk about it, you know I'm always here for you."

"Thanks. You'd better get your little one home, she's been missing her animals terribly," Hermione said, eager to find herself alone once again.

"Yes, thanks again so much for looking after her Hermione. She just loves coming here." Luna said. Before Hermione knew what was happening, Luna had planted a swift kiss on her cheek.

"I love having her," Hermione said, smiling nervously and once again backing away from her friend. Grabbing bags and finding lost toys, and giving aunties and friends good-bye hugs and kisses, it took quite some time before the young family actually left.

After Neville shut the door for the last time, Hermione visibly deflated. She sighed a sigh of immense relief. However, she found herself in an unexpected predicament.

She had nothing to do.

The clock ticked, and the wind gently blew outside. She had done the laundry and had amazingly kept her home quite clean even with a little whirling dervish staying with her. This was the first quiet moment Hermione had had in a week. Emmeline had taken up so much of her time and energy. This week, it had been quite the blessing, but now, Hermione had no other distraction. The house was suffocatingly quiet and empty.

Hermione felt bad about pushing Luna away and even worse for lying to her. She both wished Luna had stayed with her, and was grateful she hadn't. It was too much for Hermione to place on another person. If she let anyone know how much Crookshanks's death had hurt, she would be one of those pathetic middle-aged women whose only joy in life came from her pet. Crookshanks had been the one constant in her life for the last twenty-five years. He had never deserted her; he had seen her through failed relationships and dissipating friendships. He had been with her through crushing disappointments and joyous achievements. He had been there on those nights when Hermione felt most acutely alone, and had played with her on those nights when she wanted a laugh. He had been a comforting presence on those frightening nights when they had kept themselves barely one step ahead of Death Eaters.

It had been the middle of the night when Hermione went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She had found Crookshanks lightly twitching in his box. Holding him tightly, Hermione had performed every healing spell she knew, but it had all come to nothing. He had died only several minutes later in Hermione's arms. Holding him longer than she could possibly remember, she had finally given in to the reality of the situation and wrapped his body in his favourite blanket. In the middle of the night, she had dug a much deeper hole than was needed for a grave. She'd thrust the shovel into the dirt and pounded the earth in her impotent sadness. She had reverently placed him in his grave and stood beside him there in the deep and wide dirty hole. It had taken quite some time before she could begin filling in the dirt over his body. In the end, she'd had to close her eyes for the first few shovelfuls.

Hermione hadn't cried, she hadn't screamed. She'd had Emmeline to look after and didn't want the little girl to see how much Crookshanks's death hurt. Hermione's voice hadn't wavered and her chin hadn't quivered when she explained to the little girl what had happened and showed her the little grave. Emmeline wailed in grief and had insisted on picking some flowers and placing them on Crookshanks's grave. Between great choking sobs, Emmeline told Hermione about toady heaven. Against her better judgement, Hermione assured Emmeline that Crookshanks was in kitty heaven and they would see him again one day. This information had greatly reassured the little girl. Hermione simply hadn't the energy to explain that there was no such thing as kitty heaven, and secretly wished that she possessed the innocence to believe in such a place.

Now that she the house was empty again, Hermione lit several lamps, as it seemed remarkably dark tonight. She wandered aimlessly through her home, pushing a book into place in her study, moving her teacups a quarter of an inch to the right in her kitchen and carefully rearranging the vines of her favourite plant. With meticulousness Hermione rarely applied to her housework, she walked though every room and inspected every corner. It was all for naught, as she had already cleaned and moved everything she could in the last few days when Emmeline was sleeping, only falling into bed when exhaustion had demanded it.

Hermione sat down at the edge of her rocking chair, her back straight. She gently wiped her hand across an end table to remove some imaginary dust. Completing that task, Hermione quietly folded her hands in her lap. The clock on the mantle quietly ticked the seconds away. As she ran her hands over her trousers to smooth out some creases, Hermione heard the pop of Apparition outside her door, followed by frantic knocking. Hermione reluctantly stood to open the door and consciously straightened her back. The last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was a visitor.

Before waiting for any kind of reply, Ron burst through the door. Upon crossing the threshold, his energy of purpose seemed to deflate. He started for Hermione and then stopped, suddenly unsure of himself. They stared at each other for longer than either realised. Hermione consciously tried to look bored, or at least uninterested in anything Ron might have to say.

"Hey," he said tentatively.

"Hi," Hermione responded, taking in Ron's pyjamas and dishevelled appearance. His hair was flattened on one side, giving him a distinctly idiotic look.

"Luna erm. . . Luna Flooed me. . . about what happened," Ron said, seemingly embarrassed by his sudden appearance.

Hermione nodded while her heart rate accelerated and her face flushed. Through her exhausted haze, all she could feel was fear - fear that Ron would accomplish what Luna had attempted. Hermione stood stock still, unable and unwilling to say anything to Ron.

Rocking on his heels, in his tatty slippers, Ron simply stood and watched Hermione, as though weighing his options. Ron cautiously took a step toward her as though she were a dangerous animal to be approached with the utmost care. Instinctively, Hermione took a step back and willed her chin to stop quivering. She silently cursed herself for this weakness.

"Hermione," Ron said quietly as he continuously moved toward her.

"Ron, don't," Hermione said, holding up her hand to stop him.

She couldn't, she simply could not allow the grief to overcome her, and certainly not in front of another person. Not in front of Ron. She had never been able to fully let go with Ron. At least that was the reason Ron had given her when he had left her all those years ago, claiming that she didn't really love him, that she could never honestly and openly share her pleasure or her pain with him. Hermione had assured him of her love and affection, but it hadn't been enough for him. How could she let go? How could she give him that sacred inner piece of herself if she didn't even what it was? She could still remember the look on his face when he had said that she didn't love him. Not really. His leaving had hurt much less than Hermione had expected. She had prepared for the pain and waited for it, but it had never materialised as she thought it would. Then, as now, she was unwilling to think of the ramifications of Ron's assessment of her character, her ability or lack thereof to "let go."

"You need to," Ron said gently. Hermione again backed away from him until she was up against the wall. She looked to her side for another possible escape route, but before she could move, Ron had put his hand on the wall, next to her head. Although Hermione felt threatened by Ron's movement, she knew that he would not force her into any confessions if she pushed him away. And yet, Hermione also wanted to sink into him, in the way she had never allowed herself before.

Instead of looking at his face, Hermione watched his chest as it advanced on her. With excruciating slowness, Ron's arms carefully pulled Hermione away from the wall and wrapped around her. Almost instinctively, Hermione pushed against him, but Ron firmly pulled her tense body against his.

Slowly, and with such gentleness that Hermione nearly gave into the impulse to cry, Ron pulled her resistant body into his. Hermione quietly crumbled as Ron gently stroked her hair and firmly massaged the rigid muscles in her back. Hermione's throat ached from trying to keep it all in. She took deep ragged breaths to calm herself, and continuously told herself that she was in control, she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to, she could control whether or not the tears fell.

It started slowly, with one tear, and then another. As she fought against the tears, Hermione let her body melt into his. She sniffled once, and then again. One arm tentatively held onto Ron, and then the other clutched him closely, needing his warmth and his strength just as close as possible.

"Let go. It's okay, you know. Just let go," Ron whispered. His voice was tight with emotion and yet genuinely sincere. Hermione clung to him, with her head buried against his shoulder. "Let go," Ron repeated.

And she did.


	6. Chapter 6

Well, this is the end. I hope you have enjoyed reading this fic as much as I have had writing it. I had such a marvelous time writing it and reminicing about my dear childhood cats, Harry and Sammy, who were both quite the inspiration for this fic.

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**Chapter 6**

Do. Not. Bother.

--Kingsley Shaklebolt, his Kneazle, Kolya has won the Best in Show at the European Kneazle Show three times 1999 and 2012

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_Kneazles are fiercely independent animals. They will sometimes take a liking to particular witch, wizard or family and sometimes not. In many cases, it is really the Kneazle who chooses the wizard and not the other way around. There have been reports of Kneazles simply leaving families they dislike or distrust. They will sometimes seek out a new place to live or, as they are quite capable of taking care of themselves, some prefer the freedom of being on their own. Any respectable magical pet shop in the world will not sell a Kneazle to any witch or wizard if the Kneazle takes an immediate dislike them. It is best not to try and force your favour upon a Kneazle as they will be naturally suspicious of such actions. This book is intended for those who have already formed a bond with their Kneazle or have formed bonds with Kneazles in the past. They are remarkable creatures and will add much to your life and your home that it is most definitely worth the effort. Lists of activities that will help your Kneazle to get to know you have been outlined in Chapter One, further bonding activities have been described in Chapter Thirty-Two. _(excerpt from _For the Love of Kneazle_s by Beneficent Bast, pg 2384)

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The leaves looked nasty, as far as Hermione was concerned. She delicately reached out and fingered them, as though hoping that a burning sensation or a noxious fume would indicate that the plant was indeed a weed and not a flower she would later regret pulling. Hermione had difficulty in separating the weeds from the flowers. Discerning flowers was ridiculously easy - they had petals and such. They were pretty. Hermione liked them. She picked them and put them in nice little bouquets and such. Weeds were more difficult - they might just be flowers that hadn't blossomed yet and Hermione was typically a bit hesitant to make a value judgement on the worth of a plant. She decided to just let the plant be for the time being.

After a year of trying to raise magical plants, Hermione had wisely decided that perhaps regular old Muggle plants were the way to go. Muggle flowers were a bit more boring than magical flowers, but Hermione saw this as a very fair trade-off. Muggle flowers, unlike their magical counterparts had never made an attempt on her life. How could gardening be the relaxing experience she wished it to be when the Nefarious Neptulina flower had made attempts on her life? Although she felt much safer in her garden these days as she could safely turn her back on her tulips, Hermione knew quite a bit less about Muggle flowers than she did about magical plants.

Hermione couldn't deny that she enjoyed gardening to a degree. Neville and Luna had suggested to Hermione that she expand and diversify her garden and had been kind enough to assist her in this project in exchange for watching Emmeline and her little brother Winston on occasion. Hermione felt she had gotten the better end of the deal. Luna and Neville had slaved in the dirt for an entire weekend. Hermione got to play with two of the best little people in the world.

Hermione never really felt like she got much done in the garden, but it was satisfying in a gritty sort of way. It gave her something to do on those nice sunny days. Being raised in the middle of a city, Hermione had never had a garden growing up and found that picking berries or beans right off the bush and eating them had to be one of life's greatest and yet most basic pleasures. On those tired summer nights, Hermione would often go into her garden and eat her dinner right off the plants. Hermione liked to tell people that she was getting back to the earth, but it actually just saved her the trouble of cooking. Ron would inevitably grumble that he couldn't live off fresh blueberries or green peas. Hermione would remind him where the kitchen was located, in which case, he would generally grumble some more, grab a sandwich and crisps, meander back outside to continue pestering Hermione in the garden.

Hearing the back door slam, Hermione looked up to see Harry ambling toward her. He was slumped over and walked as though in pain, his hair even messier than usual. His bleary eyes were completely focused on the cup of coffee he reverently held in his hands.

Hermione wiped her dirty hands on her trousers and tried not to smile so brightly. "How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugged. "Been better," he said, smiling ruefully. Harry sipped his coffee and seemed much relieved by what it offered him. "Where's your lesser half?" Harry asked, yawning.

"Passed out in the study," Hermione said.

"If I had the energy, I'd go wake that bastard up, and if I didn't have a headache, I would do it very very loudly." Harry took another sip of his coffee. "With pots and pans and maybe some fireworks," Harry said, his voice raspy. He settled himself onto the stone bench facing the garden. "And don't tell me I know better," he grumbled, staring into his coffee.

Hermione smiled and sat next to him. "But Harry dear, you do know better."

Harry grunted. Hermione chuckled. "You find my misery amusing, I see," Harry said. Hermione sucked in her breath. She knew he had said it in jest, but Hermione couldn't joke about such a thing

Hermione wrapped her arm around Harry's hunched shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. "Never," she whispered and pulled him close to her in a tight, but awkward hug. "I'm glad you're here, Harry," Hermione said, thankful that Harry had finally accepted their invitation to stay with them. If anyone deserved a happy life, it was Harry, but life didn't seem to agree, obliterating his chosen career and finally putting an end to his dysfunctional marriage within one very painful year.

As Hermione pulled away from Harry, she noticed a bit of grass stuck in his hair. Gingerly, she pulled it out. "What's this then?" she asked, grinning.

"Your idiot husband thought he and I should race our brooms, to see who was the best once and for all," Harry said, running his hand through his hair, shaking out a few more blades of grass. "Had a bit of a problem with the landing."

"So who won?" Hermione asked, rather wishing she could have seen such a sight – it would have been amusing at the very least to see Harry and Ron drunkenly swerve on their brooms. However, Hermione had had an early night, sensing that perhaps Harry needed Ron's support more than hers last night.

"I've no idea," Harry grumbled, gulping his coffee. "You know," Harry said thoughtfully, "I would feel much better if you told me that Ron will be just as miserable as I am today."

"Oh, fear not," Hermione smiled. "I'm sure he'll be positively wretched," Hermione said, knowing full well that by the time Harry and Ron had gotten over their hangovers, they would argue Quidditch tactics all day or try to build the trellis that Ron had promised to her some time ago and make a right mess of it. Whatever the case, they would happily spend the day in each other's company, each man blaming the other for his hangover and one would inevitably challenge the other to a rematch of the broom race from last night and then both would wonder when exactly they had gotten so old. Ron was remarkably talented on keeping a person's mind off his troubles for awhile. Hermione dearly hoped Harry would have a good day. Later, they would make sure he had several good days, string them into weeks, then months and then years. She and Ron could do no less for him. But for now, it was just one day at a time.

"Hey look," Harry said, sounding more like a human being and less like a frog. He pointed to cat slinking around the edge of the garden. The cat was on the largish side, dark grey with black spots and bushy fur reminiscent of Crookshanks.

"Oh that's Esma," Hermione said.

"Esma? I didn't know you got a new cat," Harry said, watching Esma's progress around the garden. The animal moved with purpose and seemed to know she could dazzle her small audience with her grace and poise.

"Well we didn't really. She just showed up one day and has been hanging around for a few weeks." Esma sauntered over the pair on the bench as though they were no real concern of hers, and sniffed Harry's bare feet. The cat then raised her eyes and regarded Harry for a few moments. Harry looked at Hermione and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hermione shrugged, "She's suspicious." Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Well she is," Hermione said.

Harry passed whatever test Esma had administered and hopped between the two friends and after much rearranging, settled between them. Hermione could feel Esma purring against her thigh. Harry reached down and tangled his fingers in Esma's hair.

"She must really like you," Hermione said, "It took her three days of sniffing and staring at me before she would let me touch her."

"It's my boyish innocence," Harry said.

Hermione guffawed.

"You know this cat looks kinda like that old cat Luna used to have, you know, that ugly grey one."

"Are you saying my cat is ugly?" Hermione bristled.

Harry looked up at Hermione and gave her his most dazzling smile, "Why, yes, I am." Hermione's heart lightened considerably, she had not seen that particular smile in nearly a year.

"Hmph, well I think she's beautiful," Hermione said, rubbing Esma's head.

"Nice cat though," Harry said.

"Yeah, she is," Hermione said, leaning against Harry with her hands tangled in Esma's soft fur.

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